Harry Potter and the Dragontongue
by Scholar of Time
Summary: Harry's been thinking about wandless magic, and dragons should know better...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the mighty Harry Potter, nor the awesome Elder Scrolls. (I want Skyrim though!) This is a one-shot – hopefully someone will adopt this, I'm terrible at updating!

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><p>Fourth Year, Hogwarts Express (London, England to Hogsmede, Scotland):<p>

As the train passed through the Scottish countryside, one young boy was furiously reading a book on dragons and words of power. Was this some D&D enthusiast? Not quite…in fact, this young lad was none other than Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived (In-A-Cupboard). At the end of his third year, having saved Sirius Black from undeath by soul-kiss-suckery, he had made a small realization – hard, not-often-used magic…was POWERFUL!

The Patronus charm which he had struggled to master had thwarted over one hundred dementors, and it is for this reason that he decided to find more magic. Of course, remembering how easily a wizard is made powerless without a wand, he focused on wandless magic as the subject of his endeavors. Having considered asking the house-elves for their magic, he was shocked to find that they could not teach him their secrets – not through any fault of their own (as they would love to share what they knew) but that they were prevented by the house-elf bond. Dobby was his next source of information, after the house elf woke up from fainting at being asked to teach Harry Potter. He told Harry of the source for their ability at wandless magic; channeling ambient magic from the world around them.

Harry had been practicing all summer, bringing magic into his body and sending it out in small bursts. It seemed easiest to do so with his breath, so he focused on that as his main objective – controlling his outflow of magic through his mouth. Even as the Goblet of Fire was spitting out names, Harry was thinking over what he could learn from the magic of the Goblet – until it spat out his. After that, all the time in between that moment and the first task was spent researching magics that were based on the mouth. Sadly, all he could find were vague references to dragons and doh-sa-tin (which was written in such a manner as to suggest that even this was questionable). However, once Hagrid surreptitiously introduced him to what would be his first challenge, Harry planned out an approach of the dragons' pen in the early hours of the morning. Just before dawn, as the dragons lazed about the pen, Harry whispered

"Bugger, this bloody cloak keeps getting stuck on bushes! At this rate, Hagrid or Charlie's going to come and figure that I'm cheating or something….". As he said this, he was looking at the dragon, unknowingly speaking its language.

"Young meat, you can talk? Come closer and I'll chew you for my children once they hatch…"

Harry, rather shocked by this, replied, "…Bloody Hell! I can talk to dragons – hey, do you know about the doh-sa-tin or whatever they are, and ….what do you mean, FEED ME TO YOUR BLOODY CHILDREN?"

" Hush, you fool! The keepers will come with their blasted sticks, and put us both down…bloody annoying that is. As to doh-sa-tin….you ask much, little one. First you seek knowledge of an old hate, then you wish to be spared my jaws? What have you to offer that I would spare your miserable hide….," The dragon responded.

Harry thought quickly, _What do dragons like? Come on, come on! This is the first chance to get some real ability to stop Moldieshorts (…I just know he's coming back, he always comes back – he's like a bad penny pretending to be a snake-loving pedophile…). Wait! Voldemort hates everything…so maybe the dragons aren't so friendly with him, either. Oh, gold too…I remember for that book I snuck out of Dudley's second bedroom that dragons love gold._

Having come to a fair plan, Harry began to negotiate with the dragon.

"….Um, well I don't know your name, but…."

"For now, call me Bordmearc"

"Right…well, ..Bordmearc…I wonder if you know about a wizard named Voldemort?"

"What are you talking to me of other meat for, little one? It's your bones I'll cook, not theirs."

"Perhaps you'd know him better as the snake-faced bastard?" Harry questioned, thinking, '_Lord knows I would, stupid git._'

With a terrific roar, Bordmearc lunged at Harry, hissing," That one took my first hatch from me! I'll eat you in his PLACE!"

"No! I'm his enemy!," seeing Bordmearc calm somewhat, he continued, "I'm the one who defeated him the last time. But see…there's a problem. He's back."

With that, the dragon shook as though in rage and fear at the same time. It turned about, and sat on its haunches with all of its attention on Harry.

"What do you want, then, man-child? My services – dragons do not fight for humans, not even against Snake-Face. We'll deal with him when he comes."

Harry realized this was a matter of pride for Bordmearc, just like with Dudley and his boxing fetish.

"I have a good sum of gold, and I've stopped him before – teach me, and a wizard will solve wizard problems, great Bordmearc". The dragon considered this, and told him to return at night for her answer. The next night, Harry and Bordmearc negotiated the final terms of the agreement. Harry was to provide 500 pounds of gold, with a later promise for Voldemort's head, in exchange for the dragon-history of Dohvahkiin. After agreeing, the dragon began to shake its head and laugh.

"Fool! You trade so willingly, and make such a steep promise, when you have no ability and no way to fulfill it! Hah!" Bordmearc sneered, "The dragontongue needs a dragonborn, with the souls of dragons to power it – you have none!".

Harry only smiled, and listened as Bordmearc began to teach him about the words of power in the dragontongue.

As Harry entered the arena several days later (and after several late nights studying his new knowledge), his eyes were on Bordmearc the Hungarian Horntail. It had refused to deal with him for the task, saying that it preferred to eat him after having tricked him in negotiations – 'spare his pride, and take his hide', she had claimed.

Harry calmly walked over to the edge of the arena closest to the judges' table, raised his wand to his chest-height, and let it fall in full view of the crowd. As he walked back to the dragon, his friends cried out while the Slytherins jeered, thinking he was going off to his doom.

Bordmearc readied her strongest flame, and as her mouth opened, Harry lightly braced himself while focusing on his breath-magic and said three words:

" FUS-ROH-DAH! "

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><p>Cliffhanger-ish, but I think we know what's coming here. For those of you who are interested in my other stories, they're coming when they're coming - no sooner. Sorry about that, but sometimes I have the muse, other times she's off thinking naughty things in front of Terry Pratchett (you can imagine who gets the most benefit out of this particular arrangement...mr. I-write-more-books-than-most-people-read-ever-nowadays. God, he's good)<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Do I own Harry Potter? No. Why? Because….that's a secret!

Elder Scrolls – presumably written by some other elder than me.

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><p>The crowd hushed, struck dumb by what was to them an unbelievable occurrence. A young wizard (Boy-Who-Lived though he may be) had just dropped his wand, walked up to the fiercest of dragons in the world – who is also a nesting mother! – and proceeded to shout it arse-over-teakettle. This was a day for only those who read the Quibbler to say, "So what?".<p>

Harry reflected on the past few moments as he watched the dragon stumble around, obviously dazed._'Alright, I might have gone a LITTLE bit overboard with the whole…throw-the-wand-on-the-ground-to-look-badarse act. Still, I'll eat my underused pointy hat if that doesn't put the fear of me into some 'former' mort-munching bastards'_

Bordmearc, on the other hand, was hosting an entirely different tone of conversation with itself, revolving around the word "panic": '_I don't bloody believe it! He's got to be a dragonborn – he must have killed dozens of dragons to have that much power; I can't match him...maybe he's still amenable to a deal?'_

'_Back into the fray, Harry me lad – just don't overdo it, and get in and out quick', _thought Harry.

"OI! SCALY-ARSE! I'm going to take the golden egg what isn't yours in the first place – if you know what's good for you, stay over there or I'll ram your head up your arse!"

The crowd, having momentarily recovered from the previous shock, was once more dumbfounded. They watched silent as the grave while Harry Potter walked down to the nest, took the golden egg, and proceeded to begin his slow walk back to the arena entrance. A scream tore through the crowd, as the dragon released its fiery breath from behind Harry – his fate was surely sealed.

Bordmearc had heard the arrogant shout of the meatling, and could not take the sting to her pride – unable to protect her nest from a flesh-sack that she herself had taught. She took a deep breath, and shouted out dragon-fire with abandon at the boy's unprotected back.

Harry, being thoroughly chuffed with how well all of this was going, immediately realized that – given his position as fate's designated regional whipping-boy – something was about to go wrong. Turning about swiftly, he came face to face with the pressure wave of the dragon's fire; he had barely enough time to speak – but barely enough is still enough.

"YOL-TOOR-SHUUL!"

Tired as he was, Harry walked out of the arena with his head held high. The crowd was responding to the previous action by taking the most logical course of action – going absolutely bananas. After all, how often do you see a dragon's breath countered by even STRONGER dragon-fire? Bordmearc herself would have certainly commented upon the situation, were she still conscious after being essentially blown away by the reaction of the opposing pressure waves along with being burned by the only fire strong enough to harm a dragon.

Meanwhile, back in the champion tents, Cedric and Krum were being tended to for moderate burns while Fleur was having some minor cuts treated. Their wounds were mostly healed by this time, and thus they were perfectly prepared to mock the young Harry when he came back to the tent with failure and bodily harm as his reward (save for Cedric, who after all was a Hufflepuff through and through). As Harry walked in, though, it was quite obvious that not only had he escaped unscathed but that he had retrieved his egg in record time.

"Lis'en, you leetle boy! Tu were suppos'd to attaque le dragon, not steel ze egg from ze judges!"

Krum merely grunted his displeasure, assuming as Fleur did that his arrival was the result of cheating. However, they were soon abruptly pulled into the (sur)real world with the arrival of the judges – Ludo Bagman, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, and Karkaroff.

"STUPENDOUS! I've never seen such magic – and without your wand! I can't imagine what you'll do next….and how much I'm going to win!", cried Bagman, though the last part of his speech was merely excitedly whispered to himself.

"Dumbly-door, I demand zhat vous explain exactly what has happen'd 'ere? No fourt' year can do such magic!" Madame Maxime was beside herself with fury – not for any potential disgrace to her student (as she was assured of the quality of her students to the same degree as the direction of the sun's travel across the sky) but for what she saw as the most rampant example of nepotism ever. After all, who but Albus Dumbledore would know such magic?

"I am afraid, Madam…..that I am as perplexed as you are – both to the…demonstration we have just received, as well as its origins. Harry," he asked, interrupting Karkaroff's attempt to speak in the interim, "perhaps you could be so kind as to explain the spells you used to create such an effective defense?"

"Defense? Per'fesser," Hagrid spoke," that drag'n didn' have a chance – Harry up and knocked it sideways; I'd be s'prised if the poor creature can even think loud in 's own skull!"

"Well, Harry?"

Harry, ever the prepared adventurer, …had absolutely no idea what he was going to say – but he was sure it would be in keeping with his new 'bad-arse' image.

"Um…..well…..sorry, can't say!" he squeaked as his voice broke.

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><p>I'm updating a bit at a time - it's no longer PRECISELY a one-shot, but I may just do this at a random pace until I run out of shouts...<p> 


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